


Divine Intervention

by Meril (allie)



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion - Tolkien
Genre: Experimental, Gen, Goddesses, Gods, Humor, Poetry, Sisters, family squabbles, freestyle poetry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 19:04:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allie/pseuds/Meril
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>For you are goddesses, inside on everything, know everything. But we mortals hear only the news, and know nothing at all.</i><br/>--Homer</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Varda

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters all belong to Tolkien.

_Varda looks out from shining Taniquetil._

_ She smiles, pleased, and  
a galaxy flares to life. _

_"Beautiful..."_

_The sound of Her voice is carried  
through vast skies,  
sliding between the stars,  
the earth;  
breathing through every wind. _

_But what is this? _

_She leans closer, looking._

 

_Ragged ships, sails torn, bobbing tiredly in the great north bay, _   
_and the south bay as well!  
Exhausted travelers spill across the beaches in waves. _

_Two tired and careworn men, whispering beside a fire:_

"We must search for them."

"No, we do not know this land."

_She-of-many-names frowns, displeased.  
(The galaxy trembles.) _

_Varda likes her universe ordered. _

_"These men, these  
youngest-children-of-the-One, these  
wanderers.  
They mar the perfection of Today. _

_That will never do."_

_Leaning closer-closer-closer,  
descending silent through the skies,  
alighting on ghostlike tiptoe next to the ragged pair. _

_The eldest one starts, wide-eyed, speechless._

"Isildur?"

_She smiles, steps closer,  
lays a hand across Eldest's cheek, whispers in his ear:  
"Go north, and you will find what you seek."_

_Later, as She examines a divine fingernail,  
watching absently as Eldest rises the last hill,  
and joyfully reunites with  
his tall father, wide-smiling mother,  
family, friends,  
and the rest of his people… _

_She thinks, There. _

_Perfect._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music: "Aldebaran" from _The Celts_ by Enya. The illustration is [Varda Elentári](http://www.elfwood.com/~maija/Varda_Elentari.3006445.html) by Maija Pietikainen.


	2. Yavanna

_"Sister,  
Sister! _

_Where are You, Sister?   
Our Festival starts anon!" _

_Yavanna,  
She-of-fewer-names-than-Varda,  
yawns,  
stretching over Her silken divan beneath Arien's light  
vines trailing after Her fingers,  
ripping through the sheets and erupting  
into a stream of crimson flowers. _

_Varda  
dislikes  
Yavanna's apartments, She knows, seeing  
Sister's flashing eyes darken at the sight of the  
hanging  
moss,  
the perpetually vine-encrusted furniture, the  
carpet of mushrooms near the door._

_Varda  
is  
neat  
orderly  
perfectionistic  
and  
obsessive-compulsive.  
Even  
the  
stars  
are  
evenly  
spaced._

_Whereas Yavanna prefers the soft, the  
filthy but comfortable,  
revels  
in unevenness and imbal-  
ance. _

_"SISTER!"_

_Kementári rolls Her eyes and  
pops a grape into Her mouth,  
stretching,  
waiting for the divine  
SHRIEKS  
("How irritating She can be!")  
to fade. _

_When the halls are silent once more, Yavanna  
jumps  
down and looks over the balcony's edge, examining  
affairs Below. _

_"Interesting," She muses, tracing a dark thread of marble  
on the balustrade, watching  
Olórin and The Scruffy Wanderer  
(her own nickname)  
trading stories beside a campfire. _

_Idly, she sends a cloud of midges  
to bother Scruffy,  
to nip his neck and give him annoyance,  
all of which gently nurse her grudge...._

_O, what long-held shame!   
O, what snide comparisons!_

_"Did You hear that, Sister?   
The Elves have created six hundred more hymns to  
Me!"_

_"Charming."_

_"Have You seen, Sister?  
My  
image hangs in palaces from  
Gondor to Mithlond!  
The delightful dears!"_

_"Quite."_

_And that final straw..._

_"Sister, that Ranger, that Aragorn,  
has sworn by  
Me  
to win his love!  
How quaint!"_

_"...Indeed."_

_Delightful.  
Quaint.  
Of course._

_Did he forget that athelas,  
(his birthright, his power)  
belonged to Her?  
Did he not recall that his herblore  
was Her domain, that  
everything he was famed for  
was from _Her_? _

_No._

_Selfish mortal. _

_So she spited him with many  
difficulties  
of freezing winters, parched summers, and  
inopportune injuries,  
lazily,  
from her living, leaf-strewn throne._

_Ha.  
Ha. _

_"May you be plagued by them," she thinks smugly, and--_

_sneezes. _

_"Oh!" _

_A seed slips from Her palm,  
white, wrinkled,  
and now covered in Her sacred spit.  
Shaking Her hand in disgust, She flips it  
over the balcony  
towards Arda._

_It lands with a tiny "thump" in the southern mountains.   
She peers closer,  
examining the soil, the snow,  
and exhales on it, Her breath causing nearby trees to  
instantly  
grow twenty feet. _

_She pads back to Her divan_

_falls back into slumber_

_while Sister's stars wheel_

_overhead,_

_time passing,_

_dreaming of her forests,_

_their peace,_

_her children_

_on Arda,_

_growing from seedlings_

_among harsh soils and_

_inconstant rains. _

_Years pass in a blink_

_of Her eyes,_

_or minutes  
depending on HIS whims_

_and suddenly She awakens,  
yawning wide and blinking away sleep. _

_In the south, She sees,  
propping her chin on the balustrade,  
there is a to-do over a new king.   
Yavanna is dismissive until--  
"O, by Me!"  
\--she recognizes "king" as "Scruffy." _

_She is childishly delighted at his new deference, actually  
clapping aloud!   
He worships Her Sister, yet  
kneels  
to these small, rounded beings..._

_...and what victory is that?_

_Feeling slightly triumphant,  
she salutes Scruffy-king with a gracious hand-- _

_Wait._

_She squints.  
Listens._

__"Lo! here is a scion of the Eldest of Trees!"__

_A pause. _

_She giggles, and watches as Scruffy-king and Olórin  
step  
closer. _

_An oblique wave of her hand, and  
the soil around the tree loosens, freeing itself  
into Scruffy's grasp. _

_Yavanna yawns again, watching them  
through drooping eyes. _

_A celebration, with silken banners  
and rejoicing crowds, thronging the streets  
of the circular city.   
Cups being raised to peace, to  
the king,  
praises to Varda  
("Hmph.")  
for the blessedly clear night._

_Lounging balanced on the balustrade  
stretching clear from horizon to horizon,  
Yavanna dips a hand down through the clouds,  
down millions of leagues  
into the city,  
nudging a maiden's heart into lust,  
placing a handsome guard in her path  
and settling back to watch._

_(Varda  
likes  
perfect love stories:  
Scruffy's love for the Princess, his quest  
to win kingdom-crown-and-all, his  
hidden heritage.   
Yavanna likes her stories to have  
a bit of color,  
but she usually has them turn out all right.) _

_"There," she thinks,  
drowsily,_

_and  
slowly_

_drifts_

_back into_

_sleep._


End file.
